


Fill the Cracks with Gold

by sister_dear



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Ensemble Cast, Fluff, Four (Linked Universe)-centric, Four gets wrapped up in the other Link's warm things, Four is having a bad day, Gen, His companions make it better, Hurt/Comfort, Linked Universe (Legend of Zelda), Mentions of Past Cannon Character Death, rating for minor language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:22:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27101902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sister_dear/pseuds/sister_dear
Summary: Four has never been truly alone, and he isn't now. His companions remind him of this fact.
Relationships: Four & Hyrule & Legend & Sky & Time & Twilight & Warriors & Wild & Wind (Linked Universe)
Comments: 33
Kudos: 281





	Fill the Cracks with Gold

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the LU Discord.

“I find large jumps in pitch to be rather difficult.” Time’s voice drifts up from the rear of their little walking formation. The metronome of his heavy steps are a reassuring rhythm of solid weight and protective armor at their backs. 

Four watches filtered sunlight play across Legend’s red tunic as the veteran shrugs. Dappled leaf-light creates dancing patterns across his and Hyrule’s backs, walking side by side ahead of Four and Sky. It catches on Legend’s Mirror Shield, dazzling Four's eyes. He blinks to clear his vision. One of Legend’s hands waves dismissively through the air. “On an ocarina, maybe. It’s a bit easier on some instruments.”

“It’s still very frustrating when I can hit certain notes one day and not the next.”

“You’re telling me. Your teeth ever get sore from the mouthpiece?”

Yes. So do his fingers. He never played his ocarina often or long enough for the tendons in his hands to become accustomed to it. 

The light catches on Legend’s shield again. Four winces, looking down. Autumn leaves swish around his ankles, a shallow sea of red and orange and gold. The sudden urge to kick his legs overtakes him, to see a wave of his own making. It’s a childish whim. The rest of him has no patience for such things right now. Four forces his legs to continue walking steady, hoping his small hesitation might be mistaken for a disguised stick rolling underfoot. He finds his attention turning inward, listening expectantly, and sure enough...

(But guys! The leaves!)

(You were playing with Wind all morning.)

(Let Violet have his turn.)

(Will you all be quiet? I’m trying to listen!)

They’ve been loud lately, individual voices speaking in full sentences rather than fleeting impressions, conflicting desires close to the surface of his thoughts. It’s not as bad as it was immediately after his adventure, but to have his colors lingering so far forward around his fellow heroes is... a bit unsettling. 

Sky’s hands lift in Four’s peripheral vision. “I can’t speak for teeth hurting, but my fingers do. There are harp calluses on my sword calluses.” 

Legend makes a sound of agreement in the back of his throat. 

Wind and Wild go tearing by, Wind chasing Wild with his decu leaf, both of them laughing loudly. The urge to join them rises, sudden and sharp and conflicting with the desire to stay right where he is. Four stumbles outright this time, legs trying to follow two different sets of directions, before he gets himself back under control. Sky shoots him a concerned look. 

“Five/sixth's time can be difficult,” Hyrule says thoughtfully. 

(I’m cold.)

(Red! Can’t you just let me have this?)

(Don’t yell at him.)

(Shut up, Green, he’s right.)

The air is brisk today. Despite the sun casting cheerful light over the clear sky, an autumn chill rests solidly in the dappled shadows of the forest. Red isn’t overly fond of the cold. His affinity for fire draws him to warm weather like a moth to flame. Still, he's usually not quite this scattered over minor discomforts.

 _Find unity within._ His own words to Twilight play back to him, almost mocking in their simplicity. Four might have a knack for brevity in speech, but there is nothing easy about the experiences that shaped that simple sentence. 

First step: identify the source of the division.

It’s cold. Red dislikes the cold. Four suppresses a shiver. 

The conversation grates on Blue’s ears. He’s in one of his twitchy, protective moods, preferring silence. He’d rather be walking up front, leading the way with Warriors, sword at the ready. Four keeps his pace steady and his hands firmly at his sides. 

Violet is interested in the conversation. Four has little to contribute: he considers himself a mediocre musician at best. He stays where he is anyway, because when his colors get like this it’s best to let them take turns doing what they like than fight a losing battle that will only leave him mired in self-directed frustration.

Green thrums with a nervous energy, wanting to check the perimeter with Wolfie. Four stops himself from fidgeting. 

None of these things are the actual source of the problem.

The passing of weeks and months is a bit difficult to track right now, moving as they are from place to place, but Time can say how long they’ve been together down to the minute if asked and Warriors is near religious about keeping a daily journal. Four can do the math.

It will be two years since the end of his latest adventure soon. That’s the real reason. He’ll do himself no favors pretending otherwise. It’s the second anniversary of Shadow’s death in two weeks and the knowledge sits in the background of his mind like an aggravating burr. 

He’d grieved. He’d re-learned how to function with one body instead of four. With the help of his grandfather and Zelda and royally sanctioned doctors he’d been able to put his life back together, to focus on healing his body and mind. But he knows from his first adventure that anniversaries come back to knock at you.

He longs for his forge, for the comfort of the heat and the repetitive motion and the singular focus it brings. 

He’s gotten distracted, stopped paying attention to his body. Four misses a step, winds up tripping over his own feet, Red and Violet and Blue and Green all sending conflicting desires to his legs. The stumble this time is not subtle. Four catches himself, ignoring Sky’s eyes on him, the brief hesitation in Hyrule’s step and the way Legend’s head tilts a little, listening. He straightens his back, lifts his chin, and concentrates on walking even as an argument breaks out in his head. 

(Did they notice?)

(Of course they did.)

(They’d have to be blind not to.)

(They won’t ask.)

The mild shivers are full on shudders now. Hot and cold, worry and embarrassment pulsing through his veins. He holds his arms rigid at his sides. His fists want to clench, to reach up and hug himself, to shake out and limber up in case of attack. Four’s muscles start to tremble and ache with just the effort of keeping his arms still. 

A sudden weight slams into his side. Four staggers, only keeping his feet because Sky catches him. Wind is slung around him, playful glee written plainly across his face and in every line of his body. Four hadn’t even heard him coming. 

“Double flats!” Wind declares triumphantly. A chorus of groans erupt around them. Legend curses. Apparently double flats are widely disliked by the musical type. “I win!” Wind faux-whispers. He unwinds himself from Four’s neck, yanks Four's hood up and over and down across his eyes, and bolts away again, cackling. Four tugs his hood into proper position atop his head in time to see Wind jump up on Wild’s back for a piggyback ride. 

(So much energy.)

(Waste of his body’s reserves.)

(Let him have his fun.)

(No wonder he’s keeping warm.) 

Red sounds wistful. Four is reminded sharply of the chill in the air. He shudders. Sky, still standing close to help hold him steady, obviously notices. 

“Are you cold? You should have said.”

Four pulls carefully away from Sky, resettling his tunic. Having his hood on means he doesn’t even need to look down to hide his expression. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“Hm.” Oh dear. That was a very dubious tone of hum. Four’s head comes up like an alarmed horse.

“Really, Sky-” 

Something drapes itself around his shoulders. White cloth, fine but sturdy. Sky clips his jeweled brooch into place over Four’s sternum to hold the sailcloth in place. Four stands stock still, none of his parts quite sure how to react.

(Oh!)

(His sailcloth?)

(It’s soft.)

(Why did he do that?)

At least Hyrule and Legend haven't noticed anything amiss, arguing whether such and such chord progression really counts as such and such type of music because of some minor semantic difference that Four doesn’t quite follow. Time’s steps have gone suspiciously silent. 

“There.” Sky’s hands slide over Four’s shoulders, smoothing down the fabric. He tugs the trailing end of Four’s hood out from underneath the sailcloth without disturbing its place on Four’s head. Four touches the little pyramid point at the center of the brooch.

“This really isn’t necessary, Sky.”

“Nonsense.” Sky steps out of his way, and Four can see that Hyrule and Legend finally noticed the delay. They’ve stopped to wait as well. Legend’s arms are crossed, eyebrows raised. Hyrule is hiding a smile. Four ducks into his hood, ears burning. 

(Great.)

(They all noticed.)

(Is it so bad?)

(Yes!)

“What was that chord progression you used last night, Hyrule? In the last song you played. I don't think I've ever heard a song that uses it.” Sky, bless him, steps right back into the prior discussion as if nothing has happened.

(Would have been better if he had kept his nose to himself.)

(He wouldn’t be Sky, then, would he.)

(He gave us his sailcloth!)

(Yes, Red, we know.)

“What, this?” Hyrule digs around in his bag for his recorder, playing a soft little tune that Four does recognize from the night before but can’t say he’s otherwise familiar with.

“Yes, that.” Sky pulls out his harp as he's walking. He plucks at the strings, clearly trying to duplicate what Hyrule’s doing. 

“No, no.” Legend waves his hands. “It’s F, G, C, Sky. Not- what was that? E?” Legend hums what Four assumes to be the correct tone until Sky finds it on his harp.

“Legend.” Sky sounds delighted. “Do you have perfect pitch?” 

“What? I- no!”

“What note is this?” Sky plucks a single string. 

“It’s a B, any idiot can tell that’s a B, but that doesn’t-” 

There are eyes on his back. Four tucks a lock of hair behind his ear as an excuse to move his hood out of his peripheral vision. 

Time is looking right at him. 

Four drops his hand back to his side. A veil of green settles around the edges of his sight, but it doesn’t make him feel any more protected from the sharp prickling feeling of having Time’s direct attention. 

(That’s it, we’re out of here.)

(But!)

(You’ve had your fun, Violet.)

(What do you suppose that look was?)

Time is still looking at him. Four can feel it. He concentrates on forcing his feet to speed up, to carry him past the others and forward to Warriors as the conversation about music devolves into Sky and Hyrule trying to pry Legend’s pitch accuracy out from underneath the prickly thorn patch of his personality. His steps are too stiff, spine too straight, every movement an unpleasant reminder of the dark days immediately after his adventure. He gives in to Red’s impulse to hold the sailcloth tightly around himself, like hugging a blanket around his shoulders. He’s unsettled enough by such a big lapse right in front of everyone to want the comfort. 

Warriors glances down when Four draws level with him, does a double take when he sees the sailcloth. “Not a word,” Four grumbles, hunching into his hood. His fingers clench on the edge of the sailcloth, wrinkling the fine fabric.

“It looks like you could use a few more layers there, Four.”

What? “Warriors don’t you dare,” Blue’s hiss blurts out of Four’s mouth, hands dropping the sailcloth to fend him off. Royal blue fabric envelops his vision. Four sputters. His fingers brush over the scarf only to be knocked away. Warriors pulls it away from his eyes for him, settling his scarf over Four’s hood and looping the excess around Four’s shoulders. He folds the ends into a loose knot over Sky’s brooch. The trailing ends fall past Four’s knees. He can hardly move his arms.

(We look ridiculous.)

(If we get attacked right now we’re done for.)

(His scarf!)

(Just like Dad’s.) 

Oh. It is. All his parts go still and quiet. This is a sense memory they all share.

Warriors chuckles. “That’s better.” A teasing smile plays across his face. 

Red wants to smile back. Blue wants to glare. Violet wants to return the look with a deadpan eyebrow raise. Green wants to tease. Four’s expression starts to freeze. He ducks into his hood before Warriors can see it, pushing past him. The scarf tangles around his knees.

“Thanks,” Four says, dry. He intends to make a teasing remark, keep it lighthearted, deflect deflect deflect. The words don’t come. They stay buried under the effort of controlling his face and dealing with the conflicting impulse to shed the constraining layers and hunkering down into said layers because he feels… touched. It’s okay to feel touched by their expressions of care.

He loses track of his feet. Again. 

His companion catches him. _Again._

Four isn’t really one for cursing, but _Hylia damnit._

“Is he all right?”

And now they have an audience. Apparently he’s caused enough of a commotion to distract even Wind and Wild from their play. Four can hear the shuffling of fallen leaves as the rest of their group comes up from the rear and stops. The only one they’re missing is Twilight, still out in the trees somewhere. Four refuses to look at any of them. 

“I don’t know.” Warriors’s hands linger until he’s satisfied Four isn’t about to topple over. “What’s going on, Four?”

“I’m fine.” 

“By my count you’ve tripped three times in the past ten minutes.” That’s Legend’s ‘calling someone out on their bullshit’ voice. 

“It’s nothing. This isn’t necessary.” 

Wild steps in front of him, hand going to the clasp of his big black cloak. 

_”Wild, no.”_

Wild only grins at him, bright and cheery. “Wild, _yes.”_ He slings his cloak off and settles it over Four’s shoulders in one smooth motion. A significant portion of it puddles on the dry leaf litter around his feet. The clasp barely closes with the bulk of Sky’s sailcloth and Warriors’ scarf already looped around his neck and shoulders. All the fabric he’s been wrapped in is becoming genuinely heavy. There is absolutely no way he’s going to be able to walk in all this. The chilly bite of the autumn air is reduced to almost nothing.

Wild drops him a wink, spins around to scoop Wind up off his feet, and proceeds to stagger drunkenly around the edges of the group while Wind kicks and yells laughing insults in his arms. 

(Fun!)

(Too much energy.)

(I will kick Wild someplace unpleasant if he ever tries that with me.)

(Blue! Be nice!)

A heavy hand lands on Four’s shoulder. Time. He has that look in his eye. The one that says they’re about to be treated to his usually well buried brand of mischief. He gives a short, sharp whistle. Four startles. Time’s hand shifts to the base of his skull and gives a gentle squeeze. It’s reassuring, not threatening in the slightest even though by all rights it should be. His thumb finds the space beneath Four’s ear even through three layers of fabric, rubbing in soothing back and forth motions. 

Wolfie appears from the trees, ears pricked, heading towards them at a brisk trot. His eyes, initially on Time, quickly lock onto Four. Four gets a nose shoved straight into his chest, Wolfie “investigating” the smells of Sky, Warriors, and Wild that are no doubt laying as heavily over him right now as their outer layers do. He rocks back into Time’s steadying hand, working an arm free to shove ineffectively at Twilight’s face. 

“Wolfie! Wolfie, stop, stop it.” 

“Wolfie.” Twilight backs up for Time, because of course he does. The mischief in Time’s voice is thick, now. Four suddenly realizes that the hand has left the back of his head in favor of gripping him by the scruff. 

“Four needs some time off his feet, Wolfie. Would you mind?”

(Hey.)

(Wait now.)

(Oh he isn’t really-)

(Wolfie rides!)

A wave of uniform agreement. All of Four likes Wolfie. But how is he going to get on, and why is Time acting like he’s expecting Four to bolt?

Wolfie responds with a happy canine grunt, a little growl-bark. He backs up another step and turns to present his side.

“Thank you, my friend.” 

The hand on his neck - supportive, comforting, _stopping him from running_ \- lifts away. Instead, Time shifts around so he’s in front of Four, stoops, and latches onto his waist. “Wait!” Four’s feet leave the ground. Only for a moment. Then he’s deposited on Wolfie’s back, sitting sideways with both his legs hanging down the same side of Wolfie’s ribs. 

(Did he just?)

(He did.)

(That bastard.)

(I’m not getting off.)

Four glowers up at Time. “No more lifting without permission.” Time’s eye loses some of the childish gleam. He nods, solemn. 

Four doesn’t trust his balance right now enough to ride sideways. He somehow manages to worm a leg up out of the confines of Wild’s cloak and swing it to the other side of Wolfie’s back so he’s sitting astride. Wild’s cape twists up under him a bit in the process, one side of it trailing down Wolfie’s flank to the ground.

He looks up once he’s resettled to find Hyrule hovering at his side, hands held out and ready to catch him if he slips. 

“Look at you, sitting pretty as a princess,” Legend teases. 

“Here, let me help.” Hyrule fusses at Wild’s cloak, folding it over Four’s lap and tucking it in around his legs. Four lets him do it. He’s been tugged around by pretty much everyone today. Arguing at this point just seems petty. 

(Everyone else has man-handled us, might as well add Hyrule to the list.)

(We’re setting a bad precedent.) 

(We’re not gonna yell at Hyrule.)

(One day won’t hurt, surely.) 

Wolfie’s ears flick lazily around as he waits. Hyrule backs away, and Four thinks with relief that maybe they can get moving again, remove him from the center of attention. His ears haven't stopped burning since that first blatant stumble. He grabs onto Wolfie’s ruff. 

(Does he really not mind?)

(Can’t ask him in front of everybody.)

(He gives us rides all the time.)

(He wouldn’t have said yes to Time if he minded.)

“His legs still look a little cold, Hyrule.” 

Four fixes Legend with the most scorching glare he can muster. Legend passes Hyrule a folded square of thick fabric that might be a cape or might be a blanket, looking directly at Four and smirking as he does it. 

“I’m fine, Hyrule,” Four tries to wave him off. 

“No, I think Legend is right.” Hyrule shakes the blanket out, his face alight with good cheer and his own brand of understated mischief. 

The rest of the watching hooligans chime in with their agreement. Even Wolfie lets out a little huffing, laughing noise. Hyrule tucks the final blanket over Four’s lap and legs and yes, it’s just as warm as it looks. Four hopes Wolfie isn’t going to overheat. He himself is well and truly toasty now. The breeze on his face has turned into a welcome relief rather than added discomfort. 

He isn’t fooling himself. He can blame it on the layers of capes and blankets all he wants, but the warmth in his chest has nothing to do with all the added layers and everything to do with the people responsible for them.


End file.
